


the choice was mine (I chose you)

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Holmes Brothers, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft Feels, Past Drug Use, Protective Big Brother Mycroft, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, THIS IS NOT A FIC ABOUT INCEST, background Johnlock, each chapter is a journal entry, mycroft is not made of ice, sherlock is a nosy brother who reads mycroft's journal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-26 06:27:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6227464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the list of people that mycroft holmes cares for, would take a bullet for is a very short one but he has always thought of himself as a man of action rather than words. spoken word is more fluid, quite malleable and entirely too loose on the tongue (a chance to fumble words and the impossibility of taking them back if need be - unnerving) and so he prefers to show or write down his feelings instead. </p><p>[mycroft's journal]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. journal entry #54

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [this post](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/181315) by thediogenes. 



> [multiple chapters are for multiple entries in mycroft's journal. the entry + then skipping ahead to present day]

**July 25th**

**[Mycroft Holmes]**

**Journal entry: #54**

I would die if it meant you could live. I would do that for you and you know it, don’t you? You’ve stored this fact in your memory palace and filed it away because it’s too painful to see in the light of day but it’s there - tucked beside of a folder titled “Redbeard”. You’ll surveil it like a dragon standing guard over his treasure and snarling if that reality looks like it might actually happen. If you don’t think about it then maybe I’ll live forever and we’ll go on groaning over Christmas dinners with Mummy every year. I understand. It’s safer that way.

You can prod others’ loved ones all day and prattle on about the cause of death, what the victim last ate, how they sat in the cab that became their coffin but you cannot see me in them - in the beloved relative sprawled in a pool of crimson red blood like a living painting, in the body draped over a chair like a discarded shirt, in the hollow eyes that happen to have the same shade as mine.  No one ever wants to plan out their loved ones last days or apply pressure to a bullet wound & it can't possibly be me but...it _must_ be because that’s my favorite tie and it’s stained red and you’re sure that any minute now I’ll swat your hand away and give you a cold lecture about personal space but I don’t and the silence between us is deafening.

The tie is mine, the hole near my heart is mine, the choice was mine. I chose you.

*****

It's all there in a pocket sized journal; fountain pen in onyx black with the name _Sherlock_ at the top in cursive, _S_ elegantly interloped with the _H_ on heavy stationary with Mycroft's initials at the bottom.

Sherlock hadn't intended to snoop but it isn't everyday that the British government is taken down by a stray bullet (that barely skimmed past his heart and Sherlock had saw nothing but black upon watching blood soak his brothers expensive suit and the tie he'd always favored; _terrifying_ ) and is bedridden at the nearest hospital; delirious with pain and the sweet drowsiness of morphine.

(Sherlock envies the seemingly endless supply that Mycroft has on hand right now.)

The journal entry is endearing, it's a (hastily scribbled and smudged) side of Mycroft that Sherlock hadn't saw since they were children. Their family had fallen to shambles one year and they were both convinced that this was how they were going to break - split down the middle with the two of them in the center like chess pieces glued to the board; that's when everything changed. Mycroft grew distant and cold and Sherlock taught himself how to adapt.

Such was life in the Holmes household.

He takes the journal and carefully tucks it into the interior pocket of his belstaff - it's physical tangible proof that Mycroft Holmes is not made of marble and ice. He's a living breathing person and a lousy brother but he matters, his life matters and Sherlock never wants to see his body sprawled on the pavement like the snow angels they once made when they were children - never again.

What hurts the most is that he'd taken that bullet for Sherlock without hesitation and would likely do it again if such a situation arose. Sherlock had spent too many years making friends with shadow puppets and sleeping beside of the hollow shells of people who once knew what it felt like to crave life and oxygen in their lungs (but no longer do) with the assumption that he was all alone in the world when it came to family.

He'd been wrong, terribly painfully wrong.

*****

**The facts are these:**

-Mycroft Holmes will spend eight weeks in the hospital (he is miserable and cranky about this fact)

-He's expected to make a full recovery with only a small pock mark where the bullet entered his body

-He's an utter arse when he's hurting and cruelly deduces John in front of Sherlock; reveals details that make John's hands curl into fists and his chest to rise and fall quicker, harder (but he does not deny them)

-John Watson is a bloody idiot and as always Sherlock has to take that shot for him and make the first move

-Mycroft Holmes is an arrogant man who gloats when he finds out that his meddling actually worked and demands a recent newspaper ("I'd prefer for my wit to stay sharp and my brain to not turn to mush as I languish. I'm not being dramatic, do not accuse me of that dear brother. That would be _you._ ")

-The strings that once held Mycroft like a puppet are no more and the notorious criminal has been caught (Sherlock made sure of it and maybe he took his time in phoning Lestrade after finding the man, perhaps he was even horribly bruised and battered upon Lestrade's arrival but that's no matter)

-Sherlock keeps some things to himself (like the contents of the journal)

-Sherlock Holmes would die for his brother


	2. journal entry #1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [mycroft's journal]
> 
> [pre John Watson and then skipping ahead to the present]

**Mycroft Holmes**

**Journal entry #1**

  **January 21st  
**

Mummy phoned earlier about Sherlock. Per usual she was all business and rationale with her worries and demands as if I were still living under her roof and had to dot all of my _i'_ s and cross every _t._

William Sherlock Holmes has been missing for approximately 36 hours and 25 minutes, currently in transit to West Ham Railway Station and from there to a remote location off the corner of Amity Road: suspected drug den.

(I have been scouring every hot spot that he frequents, no luck thus far. Perhaps this is where I'll find him)

*

 **Drugs** : Ketamine

            Cocaine

 **Lethal doses** : No

 **Conscious** : Barely

 **Speech** : Slurred

 **Muscle movement** : Delayed

_Hospitalization required_

 

Sherlock lives.

Mummy is rather disappointed in me for not caring for him properly.

I am doing my best, I worry that one day it won't be good enough and I'll arrive too late.

*****

[modern day]

On a Tuesday Sherlock drops by the hospital with a pile of various newspapers and a box of Mycroft's preferred tea. This confuses Mycroft and he attempts to deduce the underlying reason for Sherlock's visit and rare niceties but only succeeds in narrowing in on the stain on Sherlock's cuff -

"Wine in the middle of the day, Sherlock? Oh you really are [cough] slipping aren't you? Send John next time, I need to [cough] speak with him."

Fat chance of that happening, he wants to drill John on where he and Sherlock stand since Mycroft had unceremoniously blurted out [or rambled on as it were] that John hadn't slept in three weeks and had taken to sleeping on the sofa indicating tension at 221B and "For godsake Sherlock would you put the man out of his misery already? How the two of you overlook the obvious is beyond me, even your land-lady thinks that you're an item. John Watson harbors deep affection for you [that goes beyond the realm of friendship] and the manner in which you flit about him or mope when he finds someone else to fancy for the night is nauseating. Take him to that paltry restaurant that you seem to be fond of and tell him. And tell the nurse to up my pain medication before you go." 

"He's busy."

Mycroft pins him with a withering look - "Mummy wouldn't approve of your lying. You cannot hide him away forever, Sherlock."

Sherlock thinks of the journal entry and how Mycroft had saved his life likely more than once that night and perhaps he owes him one.

"I'll send him over tomorrow unless, of course, you'll be needing your rest."

Mycroft smiles, slow like a predator who has spotted his next meal and ignores the passive aggressive bit about resting - "Excellent. Do make sure that he comes alone."

He thinks that he's being sly in his badgering of John but he forgets that Sherlock holds the same skills at deduction. He's screening John for the second time (with the first taking place not long after John and Sherlock met) to ensure that his intentions are genuine and it's Mycroft's way of showing that he does care.

Sherlock feels only minor irritation at that.

 

**The facts are these:**

-Mycroft Holmes has a soft spot under all of the scaly armor he wears and top of the line suits

-Sherlock has been in some very dark places in his life & without his brother he might not have survived

-Mummy likely continues to punish Mycroft when Sherlock slips up in any aspect of his life (Sherlock doesn't want this for his brother so he's aiming to do better by him)

-John Watson is going to be lectured by a partially coherent and fuzzy minded Mycroft (Sherlock wishes he could be there to see it, _amusing_ )

-Mycroft's life is a hard one


	3. journal entry #18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***suicidal intentions mentioned in this chapter but only in the journal entry***

**Journal entry #18**

**June 9th**

 

I was interrupted at the Diogenus Club yesterday morning around noon when I was having tea. I am still in the dark about the identity of the male voice who knew where to find me, he told me that Sherlock was at St. Bart's and the situation was dire.

Naturally I dropped everything including three very important appointments I had scheduled for today.

Suicide attempt.

That is what they're labeling it as and it's ill fitting. They soil his name with that ugly term and it makes my stomach twist into knots. He'd been unconscious for roughly half an hour before the contact of his phoned me, unacceptable.

By the time I arrived (10 minutes as my driver took an alternate route) he was hooked up to a heart monitor, they'd fitted him with a hospital gown and an I.V. and nobody wanted to tell me exactly what was going on until I threatened them. Having a prominent presence with the British government does have its perks. 

He drifted in and out of consciousness as I sat by his side and I thought we were going to lose him. I imagined telling mummy and having to plan out his funeral and make arrangements for his things because she wouldn't be in the state of mind to handle his affairs. In my distress I made unreasonable demands - a private room with nurses checking in on him every 15 minutes when I couldn't be there, pillows that weren't flattened by their prior occupants, fresh sheets that I'd brought from home, brain scans should he remain unconscious and the tightest security they could muster but I do not regret any of it.

It's currently 10:45pm and he has managed to irritate five nurses and one orderly. That is to say that he's awake and I am here scribbling in a journal. I'm not sure if hes even noticed my presence but they say that he is stable and they're keeping him for 3 days more due to the suicidal implications.

This, at least, is a relief and I might actually sleep tonight.

*

[modern day]

There is more - the handwriting verging into an unreadable scrawl (he was tired as he wrote, obvious) but Sherlock can't bring himself to continue reading. He closes the journal and places it on the kitchen table, splashes cold water on his face and asks himself what he did to deserve that sort of love. 

"What's this?," John asks, fingers on the journal.

"Nothing," Sherlock says and it comes out too fast, rushed as he snatches the journal and retreats to his chair with it.

John follows - "You know, you could've just told me to leave it alone."

"It belongs to Mycroft."

John takes his seat and scoots it closer to Sherlock's - they can do this now without the pretense of being able to hear one another better (despite the fridge being the only noise in the flat as it hums) and places a hand on his knee.

"His wound is healing quite well, are you worried?"

Sherlock bristles at that - "Of course not. Why would I be worried? He's Mycroft, he'll outlive us all." 

A small smile tugs at the corner of John's lips as he gently takes Sherlock's hand in his own. "He _is_ the British government, after all."

John's smiles are contagious and even in Sherlock's darkest moods the slightest touch brings him to the surface until he no longer feels like he's drowning.

"Mmm that he is. By the way you're expected there in about ten minutes."

John's face reveals his confusion and surprise - "Me? Aren't you coming along?"

"Nope," Sherlock says, making the last two letters pop for emphasis.

John groans and collects his coat. He's halfway down the stairs before he turns and strides through the flat to take Sherlock's face in his palms and thank his lucky stars once more for the opportunity to kiss those lips.

If he were to read Mycroft's journal he'd hold on a little tighter, Sherlock is sure of it and that's exactly why he never will. He doesn't want to see the pain in John's eyes when he realizes how close he came to never experiencing this future or meeting Sherlock at all.

*

"Ah, John. You've arrived at last and four minutes early. Is he with you?"

Hospitals make John woozy and nauseous - they remind him of holding a warm bloodied wrist with no pulse, of a painful surgery that left him with a limp. Nothing good comes of them.

None the less he takes the chair beside of Mycroft's bed and tests it a bit, it's softer than it was the last time he was here (the day Mycroft had been taken in).

"I had it brought in."

Mycroft has an unnerving way of answering questions that John has yet to voice, of reading facial expressions and clothing like they're mirrors. He's still fuzzy and not 100% just yet but he's a Holmes and somehow they manage to remain poised and sharp even when injured.

"It's very nice."

Mycroft smiles and it makes John miss his perpetual frown, it doesn't fit right on his face and comes off all wrong.

"I trust that my brother is well."

John shifts in the chair and sinks back against it - it truly is a comfortable chair. "He's Sherlock."

"What are your intentions with him?," Mycroft asks - straight to the point.

John nearly chokes on his own saliva - "I don't understand."

"Playing dumb doesn't suit you, Dr. Watson."

This is what John's life has came down to; discussing the odd relationship he and Sherlock share and with his brother who is likely highly medicated no less and god help him, John blushes like a schoolboy.

"My intentions haven't changed."

This pleases Mycroft - "Then you will remain with him at two-two-one-B? I trust that any...extracurricular activities with others have ceased."

It's not an inquiry. It's a veiled threat - step out on him and I will make sure to remind you at every turn that I _will not_ forget.

John coughs and clears his throat, shifts once more. "They have, yes."

"And is he happy with this arrangement?"

All in all the dynamic of their relationship hasn't drastically changed. They still argue over Sherlock leaving unlabeled chemicals in the shower or him doing something positively reckless and squabble over John finishing off the tea before Sherlock could get the last cup but there are kisses now. They come first thing in the morning, a kiss on John's temple as he reads the paper, a heated kiss before John (attempts to) go to Tesco and hugs, so many embraces.

Of all the things that might surprise a person to find out about Sherlock Holmes the fact that he's the one who initiates hugs more often than not would be right at the top.

John grins, he doesn't mean to but Sherlock is a madman and he couldn't be more in love if he tried.

"He's rather pleased with it."

Mycroft gives him the once over then smiles, softer this time.

"Very well then, on your way you go now."

That was easier than John thought it'd be and much less stressful than the first time Mycroft had demanded to know his intentions with his brother.

"I'll send him your regards," John replies as he pauses at the door.

Mycroft nods and nestles in amongst the many pillows (that most likely arrived alongside the chair because they're clearly not hospital grade) - he looks smaller somehow, vulnerable.

He loves his brother and John will make sure that he can rest easy knowing Sherlock is in good hands.

 

When he recounts all of this to Sherlock, Sherlock smiles to himself and silently opens the journal once more.


End file.
